


hunger

by wordtheef



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Biting, Character Turned Into Vampire, Established Relationship, F/M, First Time, Human/Vampire Relationship, Loss of Virginity, POV Alternating, Vampire Bites, Vampire Sex, Vampire Turning, Vampires, Virginity, because the author can't make up their mind, biting during sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 22:36:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28875060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordtheef/pseuds/wordtheef
Summary: Jaime has a certain hunger that only Brienne can satisfy.... well, he's a vampire: so maybe it's two hungers.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 23
Kudos: 95
Collections: The Exchange that was Promised: Jaime x Brienne Smut Swap 2021





	hunger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Moirin De Clermont (Slayer87)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slayer87/gifts).



> written for the lovely, the charming, the fantastically witty Moirin De Clermont (prompt: Vampire!Jaime, Human!Brienne, biting during sex).
> 
> i hope you like it!

"You're beautiful."

"You will be, too."

"And you smell like ..."

"What?"

"Good things. All the good things. Sun-warmed grass, and the oil over the whetstone, and wind coming in off the shore."

"What else?"

She inhaled deeply. "Woodsmoke -- that sharp pinch of woodsmoke. And there's something like old leather, too, I think. Is it books or riding boots?"

"With you? It won't be books."

"I don't understand any of this."

"Do you have to understand it?" He shifted back a bit, separating their bodies, and he missed that connection: but there was pleasure in the almost of touching, as well. "Don't intellectualize this. Just let it happen. Just enjoy it."

She was intent; she did not shake her head or look away or even smile. "I need to understand. I need to know."

"Very well," he said, and touched his fingertips to her neck. A pulse beat there below the surface, steady and quick, and it was not the only thing that made him want her. "This is where I'll take you."

She did shut her eyes at that; a tremor went over her. "There?"

"And elsewhere." He could have explained it more, could have described the feeling of his teeth tightening and lengthening, the low hard ache in his belly that matched; he could have said There is only a sting and then it is sweet.

He did not. He only leaned in closer to press his lips against her throat -- only that. "Here, Brienne ... is that good?"

She could have pulled away, gone resistant, spoken No or Wait or Stop this in any number of words, any amount of languages. Instead she held very very still: a faint blush crawled along her cheeks; and her scent (sweat and saddlesoap and the spice of fir trees; steel and flowers and herbs crushed underfoot) changed to something deeper, something darker. 

Not fear but anticipation.

At midnight, dreaming, she twisted the sheets tight around her body and raised a hand between her legs; eyes open and sightless at noon, he dreamt of her beneath him, around him, drawing him close.

When she opened her window and called out, he was there.

He came inside the room like mist, like moonlight: if that has a shape and hands. 

"Now?" she said. "Tonight?"

"Whenever you want."

She hadn't known what to wear for this, had spent half the day going through her closet and trying to decide what Jaime might like best; finally she decided to decide later on and crept into her bed in a t-shirt, bottoms, braless. 

And he was looking at her like -- like -- 

She could not even want to apologize, when he was looking at her like that.

"I want," she said. "Now" 

\-- and his hands were around her waist;

"Tonight"

\-- and his mouth was on her mouth. Soft and sweet, fire and honey, she could have stood there until the sun rose up just kissing him; but his finger traced along her hip and she shivered; the fire dropped down lower. "I want you."

"Yes," he said. Roughness in his voice, and warmth; she moved to his jaw, pressing kisses against the shadow of beard there, finding a spot close to his ear that made him dig his nails into her body. "Yes."

She hadn't known what to expect, what would happen, when she had him alone like this; but she found that expectations and plans were obsolete; all those nervous voices dropped away, drowned out as they were by a great shout of joy. His skin under her tongue; the shiver and swallow when she ran her palm over his hardness. This one is mine. Go slowly, she wanted to tell him. I want to feel it. Every bit of you, every part of you, I want to feel it ...

And he was slow -- not for herself alone, because he did not even seem to hear her voice as he tugged her shirt above her head and bent to taste a nipple, cupping her breast; she felt the scratch of teeth and gasped aloud. "Jaime!"

A pause, a shiver: then he lifted his head. There was blood on his lips and his gaze was unsteady. "Sorry. I'll ... I can stop."

"You only startled me." It was true. She was tight, she was edgy, she was over-reactive.

"I'll be more careful."

"I don't need you to be careful."

"Brienne --"

"Trust me," she said. "I know what I want."

"I trust you. I don't trust myself."

"Let me do it, then. Let me trust you enough for both of us."

So he did.

  
She ran her hands down his side and his breath quickened; she hooked her thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans and he swallowed, the movement traveling down his neck. 

His neck. Nothing moved there; no pulse of life beat hot under the skin. But still he was here, wasn't he? He was alive somehow, even if it wasn't as she was alive. She pressed her lips there, against the cold vein, thnking You.

Off with clothes, now, because what was there to be afraid of? Had she really worried about this? 

He was bare and beautiful, chest faintly rising and -- 

"Can I touch you?"

"Yes. Gods, Brienne, yes"

and she did -- and said "Please touch me" 

\-- so he did.

Sweet, sweet, she tasted sweet and salty along her neck and her collarbone and down the long path between her breasts; she was gasping now and her skin rose in little goosebumps where he touched it, with his lips or his breath, and he felt just as reactive -- as ready. He was ready. 

That feeling again, of want. _Hunger_. Blood or food, fucking or blood, it didn't matter anymore. She was all of that. He wanted all of that. 

And she made no argument: far from it. Kissing her was honey and liquor, and he smelled something else, unbelieveable until he touched her, cupped a palm to her there, and felt what he didn't quite credit. "You're wet."

"Yes." Her hips bucked, juddered. "Yes."

It would be ungentlemanly to ignore a lady in distress, wouldn't it? He trailed his finger around the elastic and then, when her sounds turned from greed to complaint, slipped inside. Wet indeed. He stroked. "Have you done this before? To yourself?"

"Yes," on a gasp.

"Thinking of me?"

"Yes --"

Perhaps it was all she could say; but Jaime wasn't going to complain about that. He pulled them down her legs and off, pushing apart her thighs. 

Two fingers now and she moaned aloud. Her blood was faster now, throbbing through all of her veins; he thought he smelled every one of them, the large vital ones of course at her neck and thigh but all the other smaller ones as well, down from her shoulders and wrists, at her hips and belly and down that long length of leg, --

He'd meant to take it slow, to take her slow -- but he hadn't imagined her reaction combined with his own. It felt like fire. It felt like ice. He rubbed his face along her shoulder, her collarbone, the sweet hollow of her neck where her pulse thrummed and trembled and beat; he kissed the side, up and all along the vein, and felt her shudder beneath him -- around him -- clenching down on his fingers. It was so close to too much, it was so much, and he was so close.

She was whimpering.

"Wait," he said: and bit down gently. Licked the wound. "Almost."

She shivered, she was complaining, and self-denial was one thing but why bother when they both wanted it -- he took out his fingers and she complained again; he pressed against her, rubbing himself where it was hot and wet and sweet, sweet, her blood was sweet and it thumped against his lips, and in one motion he was inside her -- inside her, teeth and cock both, his hands clenching down so hard that he would have left bruises, if she was still able to bruise.

Which was better? Which need is greater -- food or sleep, sleep or water, water or air? He thrust and bit down, drinking her in, and the cry she made was not of pain.

  
"What do you see?"

"Everything." Her voice was soft. "I didn't know the world had this much in it. This much ... life."

"It's yours, now. To take or leave alone."

"I want to see it," she said. "I want to know."

He leaned in. Put his mouth to her throat. 

Nothing thrummed there now, and he missed it; but the scent of her was the same -- and so were her eyes, shining not with fear but anticipation.

**Author's Note:**

> apologies for the inconsistent point of view. i don't know what came over me.


End file.
